As She Loosened Her Hair
by scarletbanner
Summary: AU Fleeing from an unhappy marriage to Larry Grey, Sybil seeks independence. Casting off the shackles of being an Earl's daughter, she goes to university, where she meets law student Tom Branson. Funny, passionate and intelligent Tom Branson. This fic is about their relationship, and what they have to survive together. Please review! In this fic, Tom is never chauffeur at Downton
1. A Bride Prepares

**As She Loosened Her Hair**

**January, 1914**

Half an hour. Hickory dickory dock. The nursery rhyme ran through Sybil's head, taunting her, as she paced up and down the floor. No one was with her, not even Anna. She had sent them all away, wanting to spend her last moments in solitude; peace. Downton was beautiful, a diamond in the midst of the frost. The walls were adorned with white flowers, and below she could hear the excited chatter of bridesmaids, complimenting each other on their beautiful dresses, with a casual remark about how the bride looked "Lovely, quite beautiful actually." She could feel the seconds slipping away from her, and she gripped the side of the bed in her room.

'It will not end,' she murmured to herself, distractedly. There would be times when she could have a moment to herself, give her aching jaws a rest from the forced smile they were contorted in to. Times when she could strip off the façade of the doting Lady Grey and cry to herself. Sybil laughed bitterly. Such a cheerful vision. Here she was, moaning to herself like a discontent old hag on what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. Of course she wished that she could wait, find a man who would make all of her dreams come true. She had read of such men in novels, Mr Darcy, or Will Ladislaw. But those men were the product of lonely, middle aged women, seeking comfort in the heroes they had dreamed would come for them. She sat down in front of the mirror. She was alone. Suddenly she ached for the moments of loneliness, curled up in her father's library, reading Chaucer, Austen, Elliot. In her new home there would be no real books. There were the dusty religious volumes, which no one had touched for five centuries; the books on fox hunting and horse racing written by the blustering old men who ached to be back on a horse. But nothing real, nothing that would draw you in to a different world.

Sybil's hands were trembling. Ten minutes. The tick tocks of the clock were deafening now, they seemed to get louder at every minute. The truth was, she was frightened. Her entire future was rushing before her eyes, her breath coming out in short gasps. To entertain an endless number of guests, to smile and laugh and to wish she was somewhere else every second of every day. To wear beautiful dresses and to be admired and petted, no one caring for the flow of thoughts that occupied the now redundant space they called her mind. And to bear child. To lie down with a man she abhorred and bear him children. For her daughters to be despised by their father and for her sons to be beaten for showing sensibility, kindness. It was that which reduced Sybil to the pale, shivering wreck she was.

Her dress fell to the floor in a shimmering mass of cream silk, the red roses, which adorned her dark curls bringing out her pale complexion. She was beautiful; Sybil knew that. Apparently she had been quite a catch, with every mother grooming her son to marry Lady Sybil Crawley. Whilst her fortune was less than Mary's, it was enough to send every Honourable in the country bowing and scraping at her feet. But there was nothing she could do and nobody she could turn to. But she wouldn't cry. They could carry her out dead for all she cared, but he wouldn't make her cry. She remembered his proposal with a sudden surge of vehemence.

_**Sybil had leant against the balcony railings, bored stiff by the small talk Larry Grey was forcing on her. She nodded and smiled as she mentally screamed at him for enquiring how her "Little suffrage hobby" was going. Keeping boredom at bay by playing Mrs Pankhurst's latest speech in her head, she was startled out of her reverie as Larry took her hands in his.**_

"_**Sybil," he began, "I think you are the most ripping girl, honestly. I can provide a good home for you, the Grey estate will survive the war and I know I can make you happy. And our parents would be thrilled, what could possibly be better?" She pulled her hands away in shock, turning away to mentally prepare herself for the ordeal of refusing him. Larry was handsome; it was true. Many a girl of her age had swooned over his dark curls and (here she snorted) handsome brow. But the truth is, he repulsed her. His arrogance, his casual assertion that he had a right to everything in the universe. As she turned to face him, she was trying to be sympathetic. **_

"_**Larry, I really am flattered, but…" No sooner had the words left her lips, he had lead her out on to the veranda and behind a tree in the gardens, well away from the estate. He forced her against the tree.**_

"_**Now Sybil, let's not be hasty. You do realise what you are turning down." He narrowed his eyes, "I have fifty thousand a year, an estate in Kent, a house in London and a country home in Shropshire. Surely you could not be naïve enough to expect a better offer than this?" Seeing her defiant face, he grabbed her elbow, twisting it until she cried out in pain.**_

"_**I warn you, don't aggravate me," Larry purred, "I am accustomed to getting my own way, and believe me, I am not going to beg for this." He sneered at her. " Your father owes mine a lot of money, enough to ruin him and Downton. If you refuse my proposal, I shall tell my father to call in his debts. You and your family would go to rack and ruin." His eyes narrowed. "And it would all be your fault. Poor, darling, selfish little Sybil." His grip tightened, and he kissed her with a violence that terrified her, as he forced her on to the ground. As the tears rolled down her cheeks and her arm drew close to breaking point, she knew she could not refuse him, not at the expense of her family. Sybil knew that in a short while, she would be Lady Grey.**_

There was a knock at the door. Startled out of her reverie, she called for them to come in. Edith entered, a shy smile on her face. Edith had had her fair share of woes before the war, and now in its early days she had resigned herself to being a spinster, and had a truckload of wool sent in so that she could start knitting for the soldiers. Good with a needle and no longer filled with the bitter resentment that had so defined their childhood, Edith melted in to the background, quietly managing the household affairs and making things as comfortable as possible at home, despite the restrictions brought on by war.

"Are you ready? Papa is waiting down stairs. Mama is beside herself with joy; after the disappointment of last summer she is relieved to see at least one of her daughters married off." Edith's voice trailed off, and she seemed on the brink of tears. Sybil attempted a smile, and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. For one moment, she had thought perhaps she could tell Edith, tell her why she was marrying Larry Grey, why she had confined herself to a life of misery and constraint. But how could she now, when Edith longed so much for what Sybil dreaded? When her heart was clearly bursting with jealousy at Sybil finding a husband, at how good-looking he was. No, this was her cross, and she must bear it alone.

"Go downstairs, I'm on my way. Just…preparing myself for the day, I have a few loose curls." Edith nodded and left. Sybil straightened her veil, and left her room, accepting her fate. Before she could descend the steps, however, someone grabbed her wrist. She turned back to see Mary, her eyes searching Sybil, pleading with her.

"Sybil darling, believe me when I tell you this. You cannot marry Larry Grey. I will not let you make a mistake that will cost you your happiness for so many years."


	2. Lohengrin, Overture

_**Thank you to my four wonderful reviewers! This chapter focuses a bit more on Mary and Larry, as well as Sybil. Enjoy!**_

Sybil felt a surge of anger rush through her. For a year everyone had been so caught up in organising her wedding no one had bothered to stop and ask her how she felt. To be miserable and lonely is one thing, but for no one to stop and notice, for no one to take an interest in how she was feeling, some how that made it all ten times worse. And now for Mary – Mary, who had locked herself in her room all summer after her own heartbreak, and refused to listen to Sybil as tried to explain how she really felt about Larry, to tell her to call it off when it was already far too late – why the sheer cheek of it amazed her, even now. Her reply was cool, disguising the suppressed emotion underneath.

"Larry is an honourable man. He's handsome, he is very rich and will be able to support me throughout the war. In your eyes, how can I do any better?" Mary flinched, her eyes betraying the hurt that that last sentence had caused her.

"Oh my darling, can you not see that all that has changed now? Last summer, I ruined my one chance of happiness – no, don't interrupt – I made the one man I have ever loved doubt me, because I was afraid of living in anything less than the lap of luxury. Can you not see how I regret that? How every day I wish that he could return to Downton a pauper, so I could show him just how much I love him; that I would follow him to the end of the world if he would only give me one kind look, one caress. That is my burden, the indecision of those months, and I cannot bear it gladly, but bear it I must. But you are too young to take up a cross so heavy. You are seventeen, Sybil, and have your whole life ahead of you. Now that I have known love I can understand the agony of a loveless marriage. And yours is far worse than that, for I can see it in your eyes that you loathe the man. Do not let money be your motivation, never let it be such a powerful hold. Call off the wedding." With every word, Sybil had felt a red hot anger flow through her veins. The unfairness of it all; the injustice! For Mary, who despite her flaws, was the person she loved and trusted the most in the world to think of her as so shallow was unbearable, and she barely trusted herself to speak.

"You pretend to understand me, but you don't, else you would not insult me as you have now. How dare you? How dare you suggest that I am mercenary, and heartless, or that I am too naïve to realise what I am doing. How dare you even think that of me?"

"Sybil please, I am on your side,"

"Then be on my side! If you could know, Mary, if you could only

imagine the heartbreak I feel at entering in something so devoid of love, you would not talk to me as you have done." At this, Mary's eyes narrowed.

"There's something you are not telling me, isn't there. Sybil, have you done something stupid?" She took Sybil's shoulders. "Sybil, you are not pregnant, are you?"

"No! Oh please, just leave me alone. He swore that he would break me if I told you."

"Sybil, you are frightening me. Tell me, now. What has he said to you?" Mary demanded.

"That he would ruin papa unless I accepted him. That his father had the power, and that it would be my fault if we were made poor, and miserable. Mary, you must not tell!" During this, Mary's face had gone as white as chalk, and tears pooled in her eyes.

"Oh my dear. Why didn't you tell me? Yes father owes money to the Greys, but William Grey and father have been friends for a good many years, why, the man is my godfather! He would never do anything to hurt us, and it is only papa's sense of honour that has kept Mr Grey from dismissing the debt completely. I know – know for a fact, my darling, that both him and his elder son would be horrified to hear of their names being used in such a manner. Oh I could strangle that man!" Sybil could scarcely breathe. Seeing this, Mary took her wrist and steered her towards a chair. Sybil whispered,

"I can't believe how stupid I have been. You are right, Mary, I am naïve, and weak. How could I have let a man like him make me feel so unhappy?." At this, the barrier Sybil had erected burst its banks, and fat tears escaped from her eyes, sobs wracking her body. Mary held her, and for a while the dark heads were close, and Sybil felt safe, for the first time since Larry's proposal. At last, Mary looked at her.

"We need to get you out of here. I believe the chauffeur's cottage is empty; I can ask Anna to take you out down the servant's stairway. I will explain…"

"No," Sybil cut her off. "I will face him, hopefully for the last time. If my last words to him humiliate and disgrace him, I think I will begin to forget him sooner." Mary nodded, and together, the sisters went downstairs. And Robert, as he saw Sybil, thought she had never looked more beautiful.

There was a feeling of anticipation in the church, the excited murmurs of long lost great aunts who seemed to have appeared out of no where to see their "Favourite niece" married. Larry's eyes shone brightly, and he gave his dark hair an impatient shake as he craned his neck to get a glimpse of his bride. To see her glowing face (he was convinced she had forgotten all that nonsense about refusing him.) And if she was still stupidly headstrong, or she if she kicked up any sort of fuss, well, she would pay for it later. Because Laurence Grey had never been a victim. His wealth and title had made sure of that at Eton. Whilst other boys had scrubbed fireplaces with red-rimmed eyes and backs red raw with whiplashes, he had sat by those same fireplaces, imperiously demanding that they stop that infernal racket. His eyes had said, "The older boys don't touch me. I am superior – I can hurt you, if I want, and no one will do anything to stop me." When he caught his mother in the nursery, hugging his terminally ill sister Sarah Jane as if she couldn't bear to let her go, he did not let the fact that she never seemed to glance his way hurt him, or let himself feel miserable that he was so obviously a hard, spiteful little worm in her eyes. Instead, he would go over to Sarah Jane and smack her, hard. Or pinch her under the table. And when his childhood spent with his uncle, after Sarah Jane was admitted to Great Ormond Street, he did not feel afraid, or alone. He would not be a victim as his uncle bellowed at him over his poor marks and expensive clothes. Instead, he would terrorise the maids, hitting them, and famously getting the under-housemaid pregnant at just sixteen. And when Sybil Crawley spurned him, and told him in that cold, clipped way of hers that she was "Terribly flattered," he would not be a victim. He would not allow her to refuse him, to act as if she was something better than him by denying all that he had to offer. Because Larry Grey was not prey; he was a predator.

The church was cold, the January wind blowing from Siberia, as the Dowager Countess muttered darkly. Cora sighed. Matthew was not here; Mary would be so disappointed, she thought. How could her daughters have such terrible luck when it came to husbands? At least Sybil had found someone. True, seventeen is a little young, but during wartime, why wait? Her face clouded when she thought of Sybil's frightened face and tired eyes, but she immediately dismissed it as bridal nerves. After all, she had felt exactly the same way. But a part of her remained uneasy. But as soon as the thought crossed her mind, Mrs Majorie, the near stone-deaf organist, thumped out Lohegrin on the organ, and Sybil walked in on her father's arm, flawlessly beautiful in the pale light of the morning sky. However, as she peeked at her daughter's face through her tears, she was puzzled. There was no apprehension, or joy, or even anxiety. Instead, her face was one of steely determination.

_**I promise I will get on to Sybil at university soon, but obviously a few things need to be cleared up first. I wasn't really planning on developing this very much, so sorry if it seems a bit rushed, but I wanted something to make her snap and take independence. Next chapter there is a big confrontation, (not just with Larry Grey…) And Cousin Isobel comes in to the scene and gives Sybil some sympathy and advice (seem familiar?) **_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey, or any of the characters. If I did, Mary and Matthew would have five kids by now.**

"Doesn't she look lovely!" the whisper followed Sybil up the aisle, and her father's face was one of admiration and affection, the kind only a father can produce. And yet this did not deter her, quite the opposite, it made her all the more determined to strip of the façade of the blushing bride, to expose this engagement for the shambles it had been. Oh so many would wonder why she was making such a fuss, why she was so preoccupied with love when she would be Lady Grey with fifty thousand a year. No one would see her point and they would depart from the wedding with a lesser view of her. Another girl would see these as obstacles, but for Sybil they spurred her on. To hell with the fine dresses and the polite conversation! To hell with enduring a life of misery for fifty thousand a year and a good looking husband. Sybil wanted people to think of her as spoilt, and headstrong, for people to gossip about her and prophecy about her dying an old maid. Because above all, she wanted them all to see that she didn't care.

The Archbishop was a doddery old man. His days of waving his arms and shouting about the terrors of the fire of hell were behind him. His voice was hoarse, and his withered arms were too rheumatic for the display they had done for forty-five years. He was old and tired, and yet he could still feel the pleasure of these ceremonies, and the joy of pronouncing a couple man and wife. There had been forty peeresses in his career, some smiling, some nervous, some looking as if they were walking to their death. And yet, after forty five years, he could not place the expression on the Hon. Sybil Crawley's face. He was getting on, he reasoned, and his eyesight was going. He really ought to see some sort of specialist, he had heard of a good one in Kent…realising that he had fallen in to a doze, he cleared his throat and greeted the congregation in a thin, reedy voice. As his lips opened to form the words "Dearly Beloved…" Sybil cut him off.

"Archbishop, please do not go on, there is no need to continue. There shall be no wedding today. It is finished." She turned to Larry. "Don't you see, idiot boy? It is finished." The gasp of shock from the great aunts was all she needed. She picked up her skirts, and walked; calm and dignified, towards the church door. She turned around, and Larry Grey's eyes were shining brightly, his mouth compressed in to a firm line to suppress the words he wanted to hurl after her.

"So, you will really do it, Sybil? Ruin your name? Drag your family's honour through the mud? Dear God, how stupid you are." He strode over to her and grabbed her wrists. Whilst her face was a mask, (she was beginning to feel a sort of respect for Mary for being able to do this so easily,) inwardly she was filled with terror. He wouldn't hurt her, not in front of everyone, surely? And yet he was hurting her now. His grip on her wrist was painful, his thumb pressing down, leaving bruises all up her arm. She had many bruises from that man. He had struck her, many, many times. A fading bruise above her eyebrow had been covered up with powder – her mother had brushed over it, accepted Sybil's explanation that she had walked in to a door. She could not strike him; she was not strong enough. And she had been willing to go with minimal fuss, to leave him to feel ashamed.

"You are the most despicable, wicked foolish and most wrong man ever to have existed! Do you think you can force love with blows, with unkind words and cruelty? If you think I could ever love someone like you, someone who feels no shame in closing his fingers around a girl's throat, then you are all of those things I called you, and worse! I cannot live out my life as nothing but a hostess, trapped in a sham of a marriage. Do you think I can survive with not one drop of kindness, without one gentle word? Oh you would tell me you loved me, and that I meant the world to you, but how can it be love when you are willing to hurt me so? Perhaps, in your own selfish way you feel some love, or longing for me, but only because I am the unattainable, the one thing you are denied. And I will not give you the satisfaction of winning the hunt. Now my family and I will leave, and you will perhaps see the other guests out. Goodbye Larry." And with that she held up her head and ran from the church.

Sybil looked across at the frost-dappled grass, and shivered as the icy wind chilled her. She looked up. The trees were ebony black, beautiful against the pearl white of the sky. It was not far to the estate, whilst Larry had insisted they get married in York, the estate was only ten miles, and most of it across fields. She took a step on to the grass, and immediately slipped in her ridiculously uncomfortable shoes. Very well, she thought, I will take them off. Her brain, it seemed, had shut down and her mind could only process the most basic of logic. And so she walked, barefoot, carrying her shoes in her hand for a mile. Her feet were purple; her face was white. But after that mile, a new feeling filled her mind and heart and made her feet break in to a run. Elation. She was free. She ripped her wedding dress from her body, watching with satisfaction as the pieces of torn silk floated to the ground. She saw pearls and diamonds scattered, and she flung aside her veil. She took buttons off her corset in her haste to get it off, and soon she was left only in her chemise. Now came the tricky part. Anna had spent what felt like a year over her hair. This was to be done carefully. She picked out every hairpin one by one, every comb, and she smashed the tiara with the heel of her discarded shoe. Finally, it was done. Her hair tumbled down her back, cascading as a waterfall does. Her hair hung down her back in a shimmering wave, and she lay down on the cold hard ground, shivering under her thin chemise. She watched as the white sky bore snowflakes, caressing her nose and face, burying her. She was freezing, her shivers wracked her body and her body was translucent with cold. Her tears, tears that were shed in total, unconditional happiness, froze to her cheeks. She was whole, still. He had not broken her.

After a while she got up. She could barely move with the cold, it was as if her bones were blocks of ice. She stumbled, and was immediately caught at the elbow. She turned around, and Mary and Edith were there, panting.

"We had to stay for a while, mama was in hysterics. Oh to think we've been such beasts this summer - Sybil, you're frozen!" Edith exclaimed, not pausing for breath, as she rubbed warmth in to Sybil's shoulders.

"I was not a beast and nor do I choose to call myself one, thank you Edith." Mary rolled her eyes. "But I do think we should have listened. No one your age should have to bear the burden you have born Sybil, and I know myself and Edith feel responsible." Sybil nodded. "You will have to be strong, now, darling. Papa looked all set to murder Larry, and we had to fetch the smelling salts for mama."

"And that's not the worst of it," Edith interrupted, "They're both terribly hurt that you didn't think to tell them he was threatening you. Papa was muttering that everything went on behind his back, and that no one confided anything in him." Sybil was outraged.

"I like that! When he told me that if I told anyone he would call off the wedding and call in the debts. If they hadn't been so busy planning my wedding, if papa hadn't locked himself in his library and refused to have anything to do with me…"

"Oh Sybil, stop these damned histrionics!" Mary's voice had a slight edge. "Save it for mama and papa, won't you? We know. We have gone through it all before. So preoccupied with organising your world they don't ask whether you want to live in it. Remember when mama took me to look at a home for Patrick and me? Remember when Edith was pushed in front of that horse of a young man and mama told her to play the piano, and then when Edith refused to play, told her she would never find a man if she didn't have some gumption? Honestly Sybil, are you so naïve that you would think you are the only person who has suffered from this?"

"Honestly, Mary, there is no need to be quite so harsh. Sybil's been through a lot today." Edith protested. Sybil shook her head, the tears which seemed to come so easily now pooling in her eyes.

"No, she is right. I am sorry. Just because you two weren't forced in to a marriage with an abusive twit," here she giggled through her tears, "doesn't mean you haven't suffered." She looked serious. "So why don't we do it together? Tell them what we think? Say that we won't take any more of it? Afterwards, I can stay with Isobel for a bit, until this whole episode blows over. Please?" Mary glanced at Edith, who nodded.

"Of course, Sybil. Together." The three sisters joined hands, and walked through the snow, the three sets of footprints firm in the white ground.

**I was going to include a bit more in this chapter, including her confrontation with Robert and Cora and decision to go to uni, but decided it would wait. Next time (This is more accurate, I swear!) : Sybil confronts her parents, and makes an important decision. This has all sort of been a build up to the university chapters, so hang on!**

**Oh and thank you, lovely reviewers! You make me smile **


	4. The fight is over, but who has won?

**Disclaimer: Every fellow Sybson shipper will understand what I would do if I owned Downton Abbey or any of the characters. Unfortunately, I do not.**

_**Ok, just going to get something off my chest. I know I speak for many when I say I have never grieved for a fictional character as I grieved for Sybil, not even when Beth died. I have adored Sybil ever since she first appeared on Downton. Subsequently, when I sat down to write this chapter, I was a complete wreck. I worried that I wouldn't be able to write an AU without feeling miserable, and I was worried about how my story would progress when the readers knew that Sybil was dead. But I am not worried any more. Because characters need to live on in your head. Look at William; Lavinia. Two sweet, lovely people; virtually forgotten after their tragic deaths. We mustn't let that happen to Sybil. She must stay alive in AUs. Sybil is no longer the sole property of JF, despite what the disclaimer may say. She belongs to the people who have imagined her life in Ireland, explored her emotions and feelings more than JF ever did or could. Killing Sybil was easy, a page of writing, two? Keeping Sybil alive is harder; happy ever afters' are hard to write, but for a character like Sybil, we must do them. Someone as sweet, intelligent and lovely as Sybil does not deserve to be forgotten.**_

_**OK, rant over. On with the story!**_

The sky was a mellow orange hue as the sisters entered Downton. Sybil had been half carried there she was so cold – Edith had given her a coat and Mary had rubbed her white arms but it did not make a difference. Sybil wondered what she would find at Downton. Larry? No, she shook her head. Larry would never do something like that, not when he had been so publicly disgraced. He would slink back in to the high society gossip parties he adored, his nose in the air and stories of his fiancée's infidelity and cruelty on his lips. He would play the jilted lover well, better than he played being her actual lover, to be honest. Granny would be there. She would need her grandmother's stoicism after a day like this. Granny would be her ally, no matter what, and she would have her sisters. The great aunts. Anyone but the great aunts. Suppose they hung around after the wedding, talking about the shame their niece had brought upon the family? Suppose they would be in the drawing room when she talked to mama and papa, clucking and making disapproving noises. She asked Edith,

"Are any of the great aunts still here?" Edith nodded.

"Aunties Mildred, Poppy and Tabitha had attacks of the vapours, and had been chauffeured home in a state of great anxiety. Auntie Florence and Deidre took the first train back to Kent. But great aunt Gertie has stuck around, granny told me she could never keep her nose out of anything, and was always stirring up trouble with her and Grandpa. And great-great auntie Myrtle is staying to offer her opinions on how wife beating is good for the health, or whatever nonsense she spouts. I think she's going a bit senile to be honest." Edith smiled nervously; Sybil's heart plummeted. She whispered,

"Should I wait? Until they're gone?" Edith was about to speak but Mary interrupted,

"No Sybil, or you will just end up putting it off, and putting it off, until you are right back where you started; stuck in a marriage to some dreadful Lord with no one to confide in. Look, Edith and I are with you, no matter what, and with us on your side, what is there left to be afraid of?"

"She is right, Sybil," Edith interposed, "Mary is easily the scariest person I know, with the possible exception of Granny, and I reckon I am more than a match for her. Between us, how can you fail?" Sybil giggled, and the girls walked in companionable silence. As they approached the drive, still festooned with white ribbons and flowers, three hands raised a doorknob, and knocked.

William opened the door, his face a mask, although his eyes betrayed his curiosity. Thank goodness it wasn' t Carson, Sybil thought, Imagine having him see you in your shift. She bit down on her lip to stop herself giggling.

"Milady, your parents wish to see you in the drawing room." Sybil sighed.

"Tell them I will be downstairs shortly, I must get changed. Oh, and fetch Anna, will you?" William nodded, curtly, and went to deliver the message. Sybil turned to her sisters.

"I cannot let papa see me in my shift, and all my clothes are packed up." Seeing the absurdity of the situation, she began to laugh. After the melodrama of today, she looked like an eight year old would before bath time. Her laughter was infectious, Edith and Mary, who had looked solemn, dissolved in to giggles. This went on for about three minutes, as every time they looked at one another they would be off again. However, once they reached the gaspy, bleary-eyed stage, Mary grew serious.

"I am afraid that I am too tall, and Edith too short - oh grow up Edith, we all know you will never tower above us – anyway, we won't be able to lend you anything." Edith brightened.

"Anna. I am sure Anna would lend you something, she has always been so fond of you."

"I suppose at this point it is not about what looks becoming but what is practical, but honestly Edith, only you could come up with a plan to make Sybil look like a servant." Grimacing at the thought, they hurried Sybil upstairs, oblivious to Carson's purple face and scandalised eyebrows, as he caught sight of the Lady Sybil in her underwear.

Anna clasped her hands together as she waited for Sybil. Relief. That was the only word to describe how she was feeling. It washed over her like cool water. It was not until today, when she had seen Sybil walking up the aisle with that look of determination on her face that she had realised how frightened she was. How truly concerned she was for Sybil, for the abuse and violence she would be putting up with for the rest of her life.

_**It was a hot summer's evening, almost overwhelmingly so. As Anna made Sybil's bed, she looked carefully around before taking off her cap and sighing as cool air hit her hair. Damn Mr Bates! Could he not be straight with her for once in his life? Every time she tried to talk about them, he would deflect her and say that she should not be wasting her time on an old codger like him. As she pondered over this, Lady Sybil ran in to the bedroom, her eyes closed, breathing heavily. Anna jumped.**_

"_**I am so sorry milady, I don't know what came over me." Anna stuttered as she hastily jammed her cap back on. She came to a halt, however, as she saw Sybil's face. There was an ugly red welt over her eye, the kind that would resemble a mulberry the next day. Her eyelash and the loose strands of hair were clotted with blood that now dribbled down her face, mingled with tears. **_

"_**Anna I… I tripped over. Hit my face on a door." She finished lamely. Tears pooled in Anna's eyes,**_

"_**Milady, please…"**_

"_**I banged in to a door, I mean tripped, I mean…oh never mind what I mean!" She muttered distractedly. "Oh Anna, mama would have a fit if she saw me like this; please help me. I promise I have in under control." Anna nodded, silent. What else could she do? A door her foot, you could see the marks on her face. She thought it must have been a book he used, (there was no doubt as to who it could be,) as there were tiny scratch marks on her face where the paper had cut it."**_

"_**Milady, are you sure you don't want to go to Lady Grantham?"**_

"_**No!" Sybil shouted. "Mama would be absolutely furious, I have to be at Tilly's ball on Friday, I do not know what she would say about me being so careless. Anna, please. Help me cover it up, and I promise you it will be alright. Just, put some powder on it. Stop the bleeding. Perhaps if we put ice on it, the swelling will stop. Help me, and I promise I can sort things out."**_

"_**As you wish, milady." She had used everything she could, and Sybil looked about half way normal towards the end. Anna had tried to get eye contact with Sybil, but she had seemed strangely interested in the pattern of her dress. It was far from the last time. Once, when Sybil was having her bath, she noticed an array of bruises on her once flawless skin. Anna was always dutiful, always diligent, she would simply lay out dresses which would cover them up, and make her up so that a black eye was almost eradicated. Almost. Lady Grantham knew, knew but wouldn't speak or think. But as Sybil walked up the aisle, Anna was truly terrified for her. She could not bear to think of Sybil, darling Sybil whom she regarded as a little sister, beaten and bruised every day of her life. She wanted to stand up and scream for them all to stop. **_

_**Had she been relieved when Sybli stopped the wedding? Very much so.**_

"Anna!" Mary called, and the sisters burst through the door. Sybil flopped down on to the bed. Every bone in her body ached.

"Anna, Lady Sybil needs a dress to wear, all of her clothes are in trunks downstairs. I don't suppose you could…"

"Of course, milady." Mary gave Anna's hand a friendly squeeze. If Sybil was a baby sister, Mary was a best friend, a confidante, Anna thought. Though she was perceived as cold and hard-hearted by the rest of the servants, save Carson, the two women shared a fierce bond. Ever since Mary was sixteen and Anna was fourteen, and she had been told solemnly that she was to wait on Lady Mary, who had just come out. She hurried out, and soon returned with her day dress, tactfully removing the apron. Sybil slipped it on gladly after nearly freezing to death outside, and tied her hair back in a loose tail, the sort she had not done since she was fourteen. She turned to Mary and Edith.

"How do I look?" Mary closed her eyes as if in pain, but smiled, and said,

"You look a perfect darling in that dress Sybil, I felt as if I didn't know you in that great silk affair this morning." Mary did up Sybil's top back buttons, and Edith slipped thick woolen stockings on her white feet.

"You'll do," Edith said approvingly, and they left the room together, Sybil marching out first with her head held high.

Robert sat in an armchair, downing his third glass of whisky, Isobel quietly stroking Isis and his aunt Gertie sniffing in a corner. Cora was standing by the fire, quiet fury etched in her face. William announced the sisters, who entered calmly, and sat. It took a while for the tirade to begin, but sure enough, after a minute, Cora snapped.

"How dare you, young lady. How dare you bring shame and scandal down on this house after all we have done for you? Surely if you did not like him you could have told him earlier in the engagement and we would have been spared your histrionics. You may have single handedly ruined this family, even Mary could not have brought a disgrace like this upon us." She paused for breath, glaring at her youngest daughter. "And that brings me to another point. Why Sybil, why? Fifty thousand a year, your own estate to manage, and a marriage to a handsome man. You should be grateful for an opportunity such as that. Have I really spoilt you so much that you can just look an offer such as his in the face and turn it down?" Cora spoke with anger. Great aunt Gertie sniffed,

"Such a ridiculous child, what did I tell you Cora, letting her fill her head with all this rubbish about women's suffrage." At this, Sybil retorted.

"I am not spoilt, I am not! You stand there and accuse me of bringing shame on the family, of being a disappointment, a bringer of scandal. All you can think about is yourself! You live in your own little world, planning who we will marry, how influential you can make us, what successful matches we will make. You never care for us, or about what we want. Can't you understand that I couldn't care less about that? That it hurts so much that you would rather I lived in shame and misery with a man I abhor rather than bring the merest hint of scandal on this house. That you would not care about my happiness so long as I had a large estate and fifty thousand a year. You think I can live without one kind glance, one warm embrace, but how can I live so? I need… I need a man who will devote every waking minute to my happiness, who I can love, and be loved in return by. But such things clearly do not matter in this house." Cora, her face chalky white, sat down heavily. Sybil turned to her father. "Papa, will you not speak? Will you not in turn admonish me for my misconduct, for the disgrace I have brought on your head." Robert muttered,

"Your mother can cope with this, I am staying out of it." This time Mary spoke up, her eyes ablaze.

"Oh you always did stay out of it, papa. You never wanted to hear, you never wanted to face up to the fact that we wanted something you could never give us. It was mama and Granny who arranged Patrick's marriage and mine; you sat by and watched as I was cornered in to an engagement neither of us wanted. And then you looked at me with reproach in your eyes as I could not mourn him as a fiancée. You watched as I saw my inheritance fall away a second time. Murray had told you nothing could be done, so what did it matter that your daughter cried herself to sleep because she wasn't a boy, and she would have to give up her home. And you sat by and watched as my heart was broken, but it was none of your business because we are girls, naturally we are beyond your understanding. You can only look at us with reproach after we make mistakes, after we are wronged, because you refused to get involved with something you felt you had no need to understand!" Edith stood by her sister, her fists clenched.

"And what about me, mama? Papa? With me there was never the complicated marital politics, there was never the planning with someone's mother. You thrust me at whatever you thought would take me, and let me pick up the pieces afterwards. Never a regret, never a condolence. You never even apologised for forcing me to talk to men who I had no interest in. Just those reproachful eyes, and a little snide comment from mama at the end. 'Oh Edith, I fear she as marked out as the plain one in our little trio…' 'I doubt Edith will ever make a worthwhile match…' ' I fear Edith will be the one to look after us in our old age…' All because I am little and plain, therefore invisible in your eyes. Not only would both Mary and I be left picking up the pieces after the latest failed match, but it made us feel inadequate. So inadequate, mama that all that mattered was that we were married off, and we had failed you by not finding a man. And we watched, as Sybil, blinded by a false threat, was unable to pick the broken pieces up. I know that when one of us speaks, we all speak, because we have all suffered at your hand." Cora opened her mouth as if to speak, and Robert stood up, but Sybil interrupted in a hoarse whisper.

"And what's more, mama, you _knew,_ I saw you dismiss the bruises on my face, the scratches and welts on my arms. Felt you push them to the back of your mind and look away. Because you could not bear to see a different side to the happily ever after story after your two eldest daughters were left so miserable. You did not see my unhappiness because you did not want to!" All three sisters were left panting, side by side. Tears trickled down Cora's cheeks as she held out her arms to her girls.

"My girls, my beauties, I love you too much to make you so unhappy. I never meant for you to feel this way, when I value you all so much. I know you think I see you only as marriageable goods, but it is not so. I admire your resilience and compassion, Sybil; your quiet determination and fortitude, Edith; and Mary, your passionate nature underneath it all, and your fighting spirit. Oh my little girls, I did not mean for you to grow up so soon." Mary and Edith slipped their arms around her and the two young women felt the hurt they felt for so many years wash away in that understanding embrace. Only Sybil, her wounds too fresh to heal, stood apart. She could not believe her mother had changed, not so soon. She spoke clearly, her mind quite made up.

"Mama, I feel I must go away for a while. I cannot stay here, not for quite a while yet." Cora nodded through her tears.

"Of course my darling. But where will you go.?"

"She will stay with me." A quiet, husky voice said, and Sybil turned around to find her granny standing in the doorway. Sybil ran over and wrapped her arms around her. Her granny had never been the cuddly sort, preferring a quick peck on the cheek, but she was surprised when she found herself being hugged in return.

"I have asked Anna to fetch your trunks; I am sure Pratt would not mind taking us down in the car." Violet extended her arm to Sybil, and Sybil accepted. Together, the old woman and the girl just a few weeks shy of eighteen, walked out of Downton and stepped in to the the car.

**Phew! That was hard – I kept stopping and weeping. As always, please review! Thank you Shana Rose!**


	5. The Decision

**Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey. I only wish I did.**

**By the way, I have to ask your forgiveness on a MASSIVE typo at the start of the story. I have corrected it now, but for the eagle-eyed readers, it did originally say that it was January 1914, rather than 1915. It really annoyed me, so I'm sure it annoyed you!**

**Many thanks to my loyal reviewers – mainly Shana Rose and Tegan Ganmore, you guys have really helped me keep writing! Also Yankee Countess. Please please please review. Reviews are like chocolate – you can never have enough!**

**February, 1915**

Sybil laid back on her grandmother's divan, happily feeling the most unladylike she had ever felt. Granny had gone to bed with a migraine, and bypassing the stiff backed chaise longues which she was usually forced to sit on, curled up on a sofa which was so stuffed with feathers it was suffocated by its own quilting, occasionally letting out gasps for air. Her hair was loosely braided down her back, she wore only a plain blouse and skirt. She was done with flounce and feathers, and was snuggled deep under the folds of a blanket, a stolen biscuit in one hand and Anna Karenina in the other. She was particularly absorbed in books about fallen women at the moment, (believing that now she was one, she had better learn her part,) and her Granny certainly had enough to whet her appetite. It had been a month since she left Larry Grey. She was eighteen, and she was relaxed, carefree. And bored. So desperately bored that she wanted to hurl her book at the window and escape. No, that was unfair. Granny had been so kind to her, even if she had had to put up with a few quips about the life of a spinster, and she wouldn't want to seem ungrateful. But she longed for exertion, to feel exhausted and flop down on her bed after a hard day of work. Sometimes she would go out on her horse and ride until her muscles screamed for her to stop, and the wind cut at her cheek like knives. Just to feel the welcome exhaustion it brought. Oh it was better than smiling like a china doll at dinner parties, and making endless small talk to dry old bores. Or, as she had experienced throughout the last year, being complimented by envious women on her dashing fiancée. Sybil shuddered. But she was steadily running out of books on ruined women, and had to face what she was going to do after she had finished East Lynne. She sighed, and nibbled on her biscuit. At that moment, the doorbell rang, and her sisters were announced. Sybil smiled, warmly. Her sisters' visits, though regular, were always received with excitement on her part. Her mother would visit occasionally, and Isobel would drop in and tell her about the new development of the hospital. Apart from her monthly outings to London to attend some of the NUWSS meetings, (she didn't dare join the WSPU,) they were her only connection with the outside world.

"Sybil darling, how are you?" Mary kissed Sybil, whilst Edith beamed at her.

"You wouldn't believe it, but there has been the most terrific row at the house. We thought we had better come here and get some air." Sybil gasped in mock horror.

"Gracious, what on earth has happened? Has Carson – horror of horrors – laid out a bouillabaisse spoon rather than a soupspoon? Was the medium white wine served with the fish rather than the meat?" The sisters giggled, although Mary flashed a knowing glance at Edith.

"Don't be ridiculous Sybil, if that had really happened, we would all be attending Carson's funeral." Mary finished with a brisk laugh, but Sybil could see the sadness in her sister's eyes.

"No, what has happened is that Matthew has sent a letter to his mother saying that his regiment has been moved right in to Ypres, and it means he won't be home at least until Christmas, and probably not even then. You know what he's been like since last summer."

"Expressed in your usual tactless manner Edith," Mary murmured, looking down on to her lap and forcing herself to smile.

"Oh do be quiet Mary, we all know it is your fault that he is not coming back. Anyway, papa has been in the most frightful mood all morning, worrying about Matthew, fretting about how he can't go with him. And mama was unfeeling enough to say that perhaps it was for the best if it meant that cousin Matthew wouldn't be coming back for quite a while, on account of Mary," here Edith grimaced "being broken-hearted and hurt by cousin Matthew. Of course it lead to a screaming match between the two in their bedrooms. Honestly! As if Mary had a heart to break. Even if she did, she must be over her heartbreak by now, especially as she probably didn't love him in the first place, and it was her fault he left her whereas I have my heart broken to no other reason at all other than that Mary wanted to spite me as she always has done ever since we were children but every time mama takes her side and fusses over her the most because she is pretty and I am plain." Edith stopped as she ran out of breath, glaring at your sister. "If papa sleeps in his dressing room tonight, it will be your fault." Mary arched an eyebrow, straightening her hair.

"Are you quite finished, Edith? Because if you have that off your chest, I want to tell Sybil something." In a vehement hiss, she whispered to Edith, "What of your silly broken heart? I loved Matthew as you never loved _him._ And does writing to the Turkish Ambassador, ruining me and my prospects mean nothing to you?" She changed her tone as she addressed Sybil. "Now, Sybil, it is evident that you are no use to anyone stuck in this village, and I propose we do something about that."

"I for one, agree." The Dowager Countess glided down the steps. "Now Sybil, dear, as much as I have enjoyed having my granddaughter to stay, I cannot hope to entertain a young girl, not with my blood flowing as slowly as it does nowadays." She finished her descent of the steps, kissed Mary and Edith and said, "Not that we want you doing anything too adventurous. If novels have taught me anything, it is that adventures lead to consumption which leads to death in a workhouse somewhere. Terribly common, you understand." Glancing at her confused elder granddaughters, she gave an impatient snort. "Oh do try and keep up, you two! Anyway, I thought I had better hold a family consultation on the matter." She had barely finished speaking when the footman announced. "Mrs Reginald Crawley." Cousin Isobel strode in to the room, with a peck on the cheek for Cousin Violet, and a warm greeting for her young cousins. Sybil furrowed her brow.

"But where are mama and papa? I thought this was a family consultation."

"Goodness Sybil, you are supposed to be the independent one of the family." Her grandmother bridled. "Do you really want your parents to be involved in possibly one of the most important decisions you will ever make?" Sybil gave a nervous smile. Her grandmother assumed an authoritative air.

"Hem hem, do I have your attention? It has been a month since Sybil's fiasco of a wedding, and I propose that she have a change. Now I have a list of activities Sybil could partake in." She put on her spectacles. "Arranging the flowers at the church. Running the village fetes. Joining the Ripon Grammar school board…"

"Oh what rot!" cried Isobel. "There is nothing there to interest a girl of Sybil's age. Now, I know she is only eighteen, but Matthew tells me that the Red Cross are always looking for English nurses to go to the front and retrieve wounded soldiers, and I'm sure it would be fulfilling work."

"Fulfilling work? My dear woman, I am sure that it is fulfilling work. As is building your own gallows! You cannot seriously expect a woman of Sybil's years to go and get herself shot at! Now, the village fete are always looking for volunteers…"

"If we might speak!" Mary spoke over the bickering of Isobel and Violet. "Edith and I have been thinking, and we think we have come up with a solution."

"Well, to be honest it was mostly _my_ idea, Mary just thought out the practicalities. It is like you, Mary, to take the credit for _my _idea!" As Sybil watched both her two sisters quarrelling, and her two respected elders sniping each other, she could only marvel at how similar they were to each other, both Mary to Violet and Edith to Isobel." So pensive was she, she did not even hear her granny say,

"So what is this grand idea, Mary?"

"We thought, perhaps, that Sybil might try university. There are a great many respected women's colleges now, and it might be just the thing." Mary's eyes glowed with excitement. "Not many ladies go, but we think you would love it."

"I don't think that many women's colleges offer a degree, but it would be a marvellous experience, and by the time you return to polite society, this whole Larry Grey business will have blown over, you will be twenty one and you can start looking for a husband again." Edith put in excitedly. Sybil felt her cheeks flushing with excitement. After years of governesses and reciting irregular verbs, this was it! Glancing at her reflection in the mirror, she thought she looked older, more mature. She was no longer the baby who had been taken in by someone as vile as Larry Grey; (who was now pursuing an heiress from Gloucestershire,) she could be her own person. Her mind raced. Suddenly, a thought struck her, and her heart dropped in to her boots.

"But, you have to pass exams, surely. They must be in a couple of months – and will they accept my application so late?" Granny chuckled.

"Well my dear, being an Earl's daughter is not without its perks. I will simply write a letter to the vice-chancellor of which ever college you choose, and…"

"No!" Sybil raised her voice, and Violet sat down in shock. "I am sorry granny, but I will not hang the fact that I am an Earl's daughter over them. Which ever college I choose, I will simply be Sybil Levinson. Then even if they do read the gossip magazines, I am simply a wealthy girl, rather than a titled one whom they feel they have to bow and scrape to." Seeing that Violet was near to bursting a vein after her youngest granddaughter taking her arch-enemy's name, Edith intonated,

"Well, Sybil, I am sure you can explain the circumstances of your late application, but as to exams, it must depend on the course you want to study."

"I did look in to that, it looks quite promising. There are many colleges with tailored curriculums for women, quite suitable, such as the ones in Newnham, and all of the Oxford colleges for women. There is Girton, of course, in Cambridge, which I haven't done much research in to but seems right up your street." A brief smile passed Mary's face. "It seems to follow the policy that anything a man can do, a woman can do better! And of course there are the London colleges…"

"Goodness no!" Sybil shuddered. "I would bump in to mama and papa all the time and not know where to look. I do like the sound of Girton, but it would be nicer to be closer to London – to attend some of the more militant rallies. How far is Cambridge from London?" Isobel answered.

"Only an hour or so – why, my elder brother James used to have a practice in Cambridge, before he moved to New Zealand of course, and he could get to Euston in about an hour." Violet nodded sagely.

"The Crawleys have always been more of an Oxford family I always felt, but then, you are hardly taking heed of convention, dear. Now, the question remains, what do you want to study?" Sybil thought for a moment, before Isobel piped up once again,

"Oh Sybil, how about medicine? Then I would be able to teach you hear, and the colleges for women will be very helpful. Oh do let me, I have been so longing to do something now that Matthew is away all hours, and a part-time shift at the hospital just won't cover it."

"No consideration at all, my dear cousin, for the fact that there will be a male lecturer. Is a male lecturer to discuss distasteful and indiscreet subjects in front of Sybil? Only to think of what gets mentioned, in these…these dissections." Granny was fuming, brandishing her walking stick at Isobel as if it were a sword.

"Please Granny, don't. What is the point of going to university if I am to have a ladylike and proper education. Far better for me to learn something, get a man's education. Otherwise, why not just get another German governess to teach me deportment." Granny regarded her granddaughter for a few minutes before ringing the bell.

"Ah, Simmons, would you bring us the tea? She added in a loud whisper, "When your mother was having trouble – um - conceiving, conversations with her and your father would always be a little on the awkward side. Since then I have had these buns in stock, and they have paid for themselves thrice over in family relations." When they were brought in, Sybil could see why. Round and golden, with baby pink icing, they were fit to burst with jam. Each taking one and a cup of tea, Mary raised her cup.

"Now, I know these are hardly appropriate for a toast, but I believe that this is in order. To Sybil, and her glittering career at Girton!"

"To Sybil," they cried, only interrupted by a shriek as Edith spilt jam on her beautifully clean frock.


	6. Spring

**Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey, or any of the characters apart from the amazing ones you will meet in the next few chapter.**

**OK, I think I owe you guys an apology. I am so sorry about not updating for so long, my only excuse being is that information about early universities is hard to come by, and that moving house is very stressful. And homework. If this is the amount of homework I'm getting now, I am going to DIE when I start my GCSE courses!**

**I apologise for any factual inaccuracies, please tell me if I have made any. I am really interested in this, so if any of you guys know anything about it that you want me to include, please let me know! I am planning to introduce a bicycle club. Sybil can use some of her allowance to get a battered bike. I need to see Sybil on a bike.**

**Spring, 1915**

"Come one Sybil, you know this. What is the compound for…" Isobel's voice droned in to the background as Sybil struggled to make sense of the strange array of letters and numbers in front of her. After doing thorough research in to Girton with her sisters, they had decided it would be best for her to do the natural sciences tripos, as if she did medicine she would have to be content with a pass degree. Sybil wanted to sit the honours exams, and get a good enough mark to smirk at the boys who went up to claim the degree she couldn't have. Obviously papa disagreed, thinking she should choose a more ladylike subject if she was going to disgrace the family by going to "That infidel place" as he called it. As an Oxford graduate, papa had dutifully taken the train there every time they called the matter of women's degrees in to question, to vote against it. Only last year, when Sybil had questioned it, all he had said was that only coarse and vulgar women tried to attain what God had intended to be a man's prerogative, and that she would do better to stay out of it. His horror at her intention to go to university was comical...

_**Sybil approached her papa, carefully scanning the situation. You had to pick your moments with papa. She remembered one time – just once – she had attempted to go to Ripon to attend the by-election. Elgar, the desperately boring chauffeur with a mouth like a prune, had refused to stop, drove her back to the house and reported her to her father. God she had hated him after that. Her father had brought the house down as he roared at her, in the absence of anyone else to blame. She hadn't even been hurt, for goodness sake, but her father was having none of it. Since then, her trips to the NUWSS meetings had been a closely guarded secret, and monthly her father would prod her suspiciously with a, **_

"_**You've given up with all that women's nonsense now, haven't you Sybil dear?" **_

_**Every time she had managed to dismiss it with a smile and an uneasy laugh, and her father would pat her on the head and give his darling youngest daughter a kiss. Up until now. Her desire to go to university was tantamount to a confession of her involvement in women's suffrage. But with a month left until she took the exam, she could prolong it no longer. She imagined herself as a lion tamer, confidently striding in to the cage to confront the raging beast. Who was not so raging at the moment, patting Isis's head and chuckling at an article in the newspaper. Hmm. Taking a deep breath, she entered the lion's den.**_

"_**Good morning papa."**_

"_**Ah Sybil!" her father gave her a broad grin, as Isis danced around her feet. "You really must read this article, it is hilarious. It's written by that little man, oh what's his name, the one who we saw at Millie's ball..."**_

"_**Papa, I'm pregnant." Oh my God, what was she saying? This was so no the way to do this, she just hoped her mouth had a plan because her brain seemed to have shut down. Her father was in deep shock, his body frozen as he tried to stutter out the few words coming in to his head. The closest thing Sybil could compare it to was rigor mortis. She drew a deep breath.**_

"_**April fools! Oh my goodness papa, your face!" Her father relaxed and gave a great bellow of laughter, his relief clear in the squeaky tone of his voice.**_

"_**My God Sybil, do not ever put me through that again. Wait, what do you mean? It's still March." He gave a few loud harrumphs as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.**_

"_**So papa, that was definitely the most shocked you could be, right? I doubt anything could shock you more than that." Sybil's voice rose higher and higher as she prepared for the words to tumble out of her mouth. Robert chuckled.**_

"_**I'd like to see you try! Have you told your mama that one?" Sybil blushed, and giggled nervously as she gave him a peck on the cheek."**_

"_**After I've taken Isis out, papa." As she was walking out the door with the dog out her heels, she added quickly, "And I'm sitting the entrance exam for Girton. You know, in Cambridge." And with that she attempted to flee. Still laughing, her father sat down and went back to his newspaper. Not a few seconds later...**_

"_**SYBIL!" Her heart plummeted in to her boots. Oh no. She turned back and walked slowly in to the drawing room. A vein was pulsating in her father's head.**_

"_**What is the meaning of this...of this..."**_

"_**Of what papa? What is wrong with a woman getting a decent education? This isn't the olden days, women are doing so much more now..." Her father cut her off, and the house shook with the sheer volume of his voice.**_

"_**I refuse to listen to this... this betrayal! Because it is a betrayal Sybil, don't you dare deny it. How dare you? You deliberately defy me at every possible turn, you have no respect for my wishes...my god Sybil, I could strangle you! I could, honestly." Sybil sighed. She was used to her father's bellow – sometimes she could even predict the little inflections, conducting him behind her back. But it turned out that her father wasn't finished with her. "How do you expect me to hold up my head at the House of Lords? Or at the next blasted Magdalene event? I will be there voicing my views on these brazen hussies, whilst my own daughter swans around on a bicycle? What will you tell me next time? That you've started smoking? That you are living in sin?" Her father continued to splutter and roar, whilst Sybil prepared herself to roar back. Perhaps she should do vocal warm ups.**_

"_**Father, I am not prepared to turn this in to a screaming match. I merely wish to get a decent education, and I can't understand why you don't respect that. What are you worried about? That I will come back a changed woman? That I will be like Cousin Flora, and start listening to jazz; smoking and drinking. Because get it in to your head, papa. I want to learn, I want to try new things. I don't want to get trapped in the past because the war will change things and I won't be able to get to the future. You don't even know the mind-numbing boredom I feel during balls, during calls, because you're a man: You can just make your excuses and go to your library. And I like jazz music. I want to learn to ride a bicycle. And if you can't accept that, then I will move in with Gwen. Because if you are going to be so bigoted, so selfish, I am not content to be in the same village as you." The mere idea of Sybil sharing a flat with a former housemaid was enough to send Lord Grantham over the edge. He immediately calmed, the throbbing vein in his head the only evidence of his former outburst. When he spoke his voice was measured, calm, like that of a man who knows that his world has fallen about his ears. **_

"_**Well, if you are so determined to throw your prospects to the devil then I suppose I will not stop you. I will, of course, expect you to move out completely; I do not know where you will go once your Grandmother hears of this outrage but you seem to know best."**_

"_**Papa, Granny is in London arranging my interview as we speak." At this news Robert's shoulders sagged.**_

"_**Is there no one left?" he whispered almost to himself. Sybil felt a twang of pity pluck at her heartstrings. If only her papa was not such an insufferable ass...she wished she could find the words to tell him she was still his little girl, but found that they stuck in her throat. Instead, a cool, unfeeling voice said,**_

"_**I am going as Sybil Levinson, there will be nothing there to disgrace you. I'm sure news will get out soon enough, but at least you will be able to show that I have renounced this absurd title completely." Sybil hated herself as she watched her father hunch over his work. Suddenly he straightened up; businesslike in his manner.**_

"_**I believe that £20 a month will cover your accommodation, the rest I am sure your grandmother is taking care of. I cannot say that I wish you well Sybil, but I hope that the time will come when you regret what you have said to me." Sybil nodded, and walked out of the door, out of the hall and in to the pale sunlight...**_

"Sybil!" she started. Isobel wasn't looking pleased. "Well? What is the answer? Sybil searched her brain.

"CuO3Ne." She was rewarded with a bright smile and hearty thump on the back from her cousin.

"Bravo, dear, bravo! We'll make a chemist of you yet. Now, let's turn to Physiology of living things..." Sybil let out a moan and banged her head down on the table. Suddenly, Mary burst in.

"Oh, I am sorry to interrupt, cousin, but I must tell Sybil this. Ms Wilkins has agreed to grant you an interview! You are to go to Girton college on the 23rd of April." With a shriek, Sybil got up and hugged her sister fiercely, and the two jumped up and down in delight.

**April 23****rd**** 1915**

Sybil twisted her hat nervously between her fingers as the train pulled away from York station. It was a long train journey from York to Cambridge; at least four hours, so she had booked a hotel room in the city. Opposite her were Mary and Edith, her chaperones for the journey. Frankly, Sybil had found the idea ridiculous, considering she was considering living by herself for three years, but Mary was determined that she shouldn't make a bad impression. Sybil wore a dove grey skirt and jacket, her blouse crisp and high necked; fastened with a brooch. They were simple and neat, but not too expensive. She was adamant that no one should know of her background. She doubted the girls would take too kindly to the daughter of an earl. Besides, had she not promised her father? She inclined her head so that it rested against the window, and let out a small sigh. In her attaché case were her notes, her essays; evidence of her campaign for women's rights and the volunteering she had done at the local hospital. The casualties from the war continued to grow, and Isobel had said that it would be good experience. She would not want to be shocked at her first human dissection. Sybil glanced at her sisters. Mary was gazing listlessly out of the window, her eyes distant. Sybil bit her lip. Mary was clearly depressed, her demeanor was lackluster and her eyes had lost their spark. She no longer did her hair up in the latest fashion, but put it up simply with pins and slipped on the dresses her mother had bought for her. When Mary wasn't out on a long walk, which she would consistently take despite the icy conditions, she was sleeping. She slept so fitfully during the night that she slept whenever she could during the day. Cora, unable to deal with this sudden change in her daughter, chose to ignore it. It was easy; Mary still maintained the cold, careful mask she had spent years cultivating and feigned interest in the various hobbies her mother tried to interest her in. But her pride prevented her from even writing to Matthew, too afraid was she of being hurt again. She refused food put in front of her most of the time, and she had grown thinner. Sybil, a helpless spectator, watched as her sister slowly descended in to a deep, dark pit. Edith hid her concern behind her continuing battles with Mary, although anyone could see that her heart wasn't in it any more. She had recently taken up writing as her hobby, and was engrossed in the whodunit she was writing currently. Edith hoped to send it off to a publisher soon, and was trying to work out a pseudonym to write under.

"I need something masculine; mature. Something that breathes allure and mystery." She turned to Mary. "Thoughts, sister?" Mary gave a faint smile.

"Leave me alone, Edith, please. Anyone would think you were under binding contract to plague me for all eternity." Edith rolled her eyes. No one could say she hadn't tried.

"How about you, Sybil? Come on, I want something dark but alluring, something that rolls off your tongue. What does that make you think of?" Sybil thought for a while, keeping one eye on Mary, who was trying desperately hard not to be sick.

"Umm, Leon? No. Ummm, what about Ciaran?" Edith crowed,

"Goodness Sybil, who would have thought you had a thing for Irish names? Where did you pluck those from?" Sybil flushed beetroot red, and stammered.

"No where, I-I don't know. I just thought those names sounded nice, that's all. Let me think of some more." She racked her brains for something suitable. "How about Brandon? It's a nice sounding name, it has a certain ring to it." Edith tried the name out on her tongue, tossing it to and fro.

"Brandon. I like it. I think I shall write as Brandon Mc-Mcgrath. That should satisfy your Irish fetish, I hope!" Edith giggled as Sybil raised her eyes to the heavens.

The train pulled in at Cambridge station, and a kindly porter helped her off the train. For a moment, she panicked, unable to see Mary or Edith, who had seemingly disappeared in to the crowd. She turned to and for in an effort to catch a glimpse of her sisters, and as she set off in search for them, ran straight in to a fellow passenger. Both fell to the floor with an inelegant thump, rebounding off each other. Sybil gasped and stuttered,

"Oh my goodness, I do apologise, are you alright?" suddenly she found her ears ringing, having bashed head first at him. She stumbled slightly, black spots appearing before her eyes.

"Woah, easy there miss!" Catching her at her waist before she could keel over, he took her wrists and steered her to a bench. Sybil gasped at the touch of his hands on her, but allowed herself to be lead. She found herself blushing with embarrassment, imagining what her grandmother would say if she could see her now.

"Thank you, that is very kind, but I must not delay you."

"Oh it's not any trouble," he replied cheerfully, sitting himself down on the bench and taking out a flask from his pocket. "Couldn't have you falling over in the middle of the platform! Here," he said, offering her the flask, "drink some of this." At her hesitation, he grinned. "Go on, it's only water. I've learnt to carry some with me ever since the Great Escape...don't ask!" Sybil laughed, and looked up at him shyly. Now the black spots had gone she could see that his hair was sandy and rough, although he had obviously made an attempt to tame it. His eyes though – they were colour of the pale blue flowers which dotted the fields at home, like the sky on a sunny day. Cambridge blue, her mother had always said, when pointing at the flowers. It was fitting really. Attempting to make conversation, she asked him, "Are you at Cambridge?" He smiled at her,

"Aye, and who would have thought it? A poor Irish boy, studying at a toff's place. I got a scholarship to Trinity college, in Ireland, and through some sort of contract between the ancient universities, managed to get myself a place at Trinity here. Been here nearly two years now, studying history with social and political sciences on the side. Not that it's been easy, no one likes the Irish here and I'm not exactly welcome. Not my place and all that. But with all the young men in France, fighting, it's not like there isn't room. But try telling them that." He stopped himself, giving a short laugh before glancing at Sybil. "Didn't mean to give you my life story there. But you have a nice face." Visibly embarrassed, he stared down at his shoes, and Sybil, craning her neck, gave a sigh of relief.

"There are my sisters. I must go." She turned to the stranger, who was looking at her intently, as if he didn't want to let her go. It was a look that made her slightly weak at the knees...goodness, what had she been doing? Talking to a man who she did not know, drinking from his flask – she had met him five minutes ago!" Hurriedly, she said, "thank you for your kindness, sir. I hope we will see each other around Cambridge." As she turned to leave, he called out,

"At least tell me your name!" Sybil looked at him, and for a moment, as their eyes met, it felt as if she had found the answer to a question she had been asking since she first become engaged to Larry Grey.

"Sybil. Sybil Cra-Levinson."

"And mine is Tom Branson." With a parting smile, they turned and went their separate ways. Sybil ran to her frantic sisters, who had just heard from the porter that their sister had been lead away by a strange man, and they made their way to the hotel.

**Please R&R! I literally can't write without them. (Some might argue that I can't write with them either...) I especially can't write without my loyal reviewers. Thank you to ShanaRose (as always!) TeganGanmore and YankeeCountess.**


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